Chapter Text
"You. Order your men to stand down, and remove these things at once."
Weatherby's voice echoed as Ann hurried after her uncle. The sharp click of her heels on the cobblestones merged with the intense sound of rain as she brushed a loose strand of wet hair from her forehead. Her hair, typically tied in a tight twist at the back of her head, had begun to unravel, and her damp burgundy dress was gathered in her hand as she navigated the crowd.
She pushed past a sea of red coats until her gaze found Elizabeth; her veil dirty, her eyes smudged, desperately tugging at the iron cuffs locked around Will's wrists.
Ann gently wedged herself next to her uncle, her hand on his forearm, reassuring him as his laboured breaths began to calm.
"Governor Weatherby Swann, it's been too long-" Ann's neck snapped towards that stern familiar voice. Locking eyes with his cold grey ones, she recognised him.
"Cutler Beckett," She gritted. Weatherby glanced down at Ann with surprise as she attempted to push through the guards' pikes blocking her way. Lord Becket tilted his head, taking a short step towards Ann.
"It's Lord now." His cold tone dismissed her. His eyes lazily gazed over Ann, from the hem of her damp dress to the loosened hair, before flicking away with disinterest, not recognising her.
The corner of Ann's mouth lifted into a smirk, feeling a flicker of hope. Weatherby watched her nervously, unsure how she might respond
Trust me, my dear. Men like him wear composure like armour, but the right pressure would shatter them in a second.
Ann remembered the words her father had whispered to her, the ones that made her hold back a giggle the first time she was introduced to young Cutler Beckett at an East India Trading Company dinner. Eyes just as cold and unreadable now as they had been back then.
Ann liked to believe that Beckett was nothing more than a façade built of carefully chosen words and mannerisms, all to conceal his own shortcomings.
"Lord or not, you have no reason and no authority to arrest this man." Weatherby continued.
"In fact, I do." Beckett's head tilted gently as he pulled out a piece of paper from the inside of his jacket. "My appointment to the Royal Commission for Antilles Trade and Protection," He held up a piece of parchment, before reaching for another, "The Commission charter, granting it extraordinary powers in matters both governmental and military. And the warrant for the arrest of one William Turner."
Governor Weatherby snatched the last piece of paper, eyes racing across the sentences. Ann leaned in, shock igniting on her face as she scanned the words.
"This is for Elizabeth Swann!" Weatherby's mouth hung open.
"Is it? How odd... my mistake. Arrest her." Beckett ofhandedly glanced over at the guards as they rushed to Elizabeth, roughly separating her from Will.
"What are the charges?" Ann's sharp voice cut through the rain and the guards, catching everyone's attention. While they were busy blocking Weatherby's path with the iron pikes, Ann crouched and slipped through the narrow gap, the guards none the wiser, before striding toward Beckett.
The sharp click of a pistol almost made Ann's head jolt as she felt cold metal meet with the bottom of her chin, bringing her face to face with a sickly pale man whose dark eyes locked on her as he levelled his weapon. A guard dog loyally and blindly defending its cruel master. Ann met his stare with a cold, unwavering expression, while Elizabeth gasped behind her.
"Now, now, Mercer, there's no need. The lady was simply asking a question–"
Beckett gently lowered Mercer's arm, guiding the pistol down until Mercer reluctantly unclicked it and pulled it away. Beckett's eyes lingered a moment too long on a raindrop sliding down Ann's neck, tracing the line of her chest before disappearing beneath her corset.
"Your name?"
"They are British subjects under the jurisdiction of the King's Governor of Port Royal, and we all demand to know the charges against them."
Ann did her best to steady her breath as her corset dug into her ribs. Nothing would be worse than letting Beckett see that he could intimidate her. To everyone else, she looked fearless, or rather reckless, for addressing him so directly. But Beckett saw through it.
Beckett's lips parted in mild surprise, adorned with a cruel, knowing smile. Defiance, especially someone daring to ignore his questions, was not something he often faced. Her attempt at appearing powerful amused him.
Captivated him.
"The charge is conspiring to secure the unlawful release of a convict, charged and tried for crimes against the Crown and Empire, and condemned to death. For which, regrettably, the punishment is also death. You do remember a pirate named, I believe it is, Jack Sparrow?"
"Captain." Ann, Elizabeth and Will interjected in unison, earning a lazy eye roll from Beckett.
"Yes... I thought you might." Beckett drew out the words before jerking his head, signalling the guards as they began to drag Elizabeth and Will away. Elizabeth's eyes widened in panic, darting between her father and cousin. Ann kept her lips pressed, giving Elizabeth a subtle nod.
"It will be fine," Ann reassured her uncle, as her mind spiralled on different solutions. She failed to notice Beckett's eyes lazily lingering on her for one more second before following the guards into the castle.
"Find out that woman's name and bring me whoever failed to inform me of her presence in Port Royal." Beckett gritted his words at Mr Mercer as the man bowed and headed off in another direction. Beckett had ordered research on every public figure and member of the English elite on the island before his arrival. Of course, he knew Governor Swan and his daughter. But her? He did not know.
If she was confident... Or perhaps foolish enough to speak to him as she had, she was certainly not of plain heritage.
Ann lingered in her harbour office, pacing back and forth as she weighed the possibility of helping Elizabeth and Will escape. She could request a formal meeting with the man, though that would take days. She could break into his office in broad daylight. Or she could use her connections with the Port Royal guards and collect whatever information they overheard while stationed outside his door each day.
She chose the latter.
"He is going to ask you to retrieve Jack's compass."
"The compass?" Will frowned.
"He needs it. I'm not entirely sure why yet, but he does." Ann glanced from one cell to the other as Elizabeth leaned against the bars.
"And what of me?" Elizabeth half-whispered.
"They believe he wants to marry you-"
"What?!" Elizabeth shot up from the grimy cobblestones and grabbed the bars.
"Liz, he needs a wife to secure his status as newly appointed Crown envoy. Who better than the Governor's daughter?" Ann spoke calmly through the bars while Will shook his head in reluctant agreement.
"I'm appalled, but it does make sense," he added.
"We need leverage. Perhaps if you promise him marriage, he would ensure Will's pardon-"
"And then what?!" Elizabeth snapped.
"I don't know!" Ann slammed her palm against the iron bars, making Elizabeth jump. "I don't know," Her voice fell, becoming weary and defeated. "Will, you must agree to find Jack. Once you leave Port Royal, I will do everything I can to help Elizabeth."
"Is there no one you know who can help? None of your father's old friends-"
"By the time my father died, Beckett already outranked him. So I doubt it. But that doesn't mean I can't try."
Ann gripped Elizabeth's hand, gave it a firm squeeze, then gathered the front of her dress and started up the prison steps with determined strides.
Will was gone only a few hours later. Ann barricaded herself in her office, digging through every scrap of paper she could find on Lord Cutler Beckett. At some point, the sun had set, and she was forced to light several candles to continue reading. All day, people had been coming and going, hauling furniture into the office opposite hers. She wanted nothing more than for him to leave Port Royal, but it was not that simple.
He was impressive, she had to admit. His hatred of pirates was renowned as he rose through the ranks of the East India Trading Company. Ann remembered the evenings when her father would take her to balls and dinners hosted by the EITC. He would quietly point out every prominent figure in the room; Beckett, naturally, was one of them. Cutler Beckett was a name her father told her not to fear, but to respect. Even then.
She knew Beckett had served as an executive within the Company, wielding authority over maritime trade and anti-piracy operations. After her father's death, she had followed Beckett's career closely. He oversaw the West African slave trade routes. In the early 1700s, he rose steadily through the EITC's hierarchy, securing political influence in London and tightening Company control across key trade regions. Once he aligned himself with the British Crown, they seemed to grant him free rein over anything he wished to pursue, even if it meant stripping Norrington of his title or jailing Elizabeth.
Rummaging through her old work correspondence from her time as Assistant Liaison for Overseas Trade Households, Ann found a letter mentioning that Beckett had initiated a large-scale anti-piracy campaign on behalf of the Company. Back then, it had hardly concerned her. Only the previous year had she witnessed Norrington pardon Captain Jack Sparrow, an act her father would have considered outright treason against both Company and Crown.
Her father would have been proud of Beckett's rise. Perhaps even envious.
Ann heard distant footsteps approaching her office; she could recognise anyone significant in that building by sound alone.
"Did you see that ridiculous mahogany desk they put in his office? I cannot believe they dragged that ghastly thing all the way from London." She spoke without looking up from her papers.
"Yes, it is ever so obnoxious-" Weatherby gave her a small smile. "It's late, you need to sleep. I'll be stopping by Elizabeth's cell before I head home. Care to join me?"
"I will make my own way. But thank you."
Ann watched the pained expression on Weatherby's face as he turned to leave.
"Do you know if he's still here?" she asked, nodding toward the office opposite hers.
"I haven't seen that dog of his around," Weatherby scoffed, referring to Mr Mercer. Ann hummed in reply as his footsteps faded down the hall.
She reached for another old letter. Becoming engulfed in old correspondance hours passed. Re-reading one of the sentences, Ann suddenly paused when she caught a shadow moving across her windows on the harbour side toward Beckett's office. Suddenly, she noticed moonlight reflecting off a white wedding dress.
That fool.
Ann shoved back her chair and hurried into the corridor. Spotting a thin sliver of light through Beckett's doorframe, she held her breath and peered inside.
The room was nearly pitch-black. Ann could barely make out Elizabeth, hunched over Beckett's desk and rummaging through a wooden EITC box like a madwoman.
"Are you daft?" Ann hissed.
"Heavens, you gave me a fright." Elizabeth lowered her pistol. "Now help me find the letters of marque."
"You're mad," Ann muttered as she snatched a handful of papers from the box, sorting through them quickly. "Beckett is not simple-minded, this won't-"
"Help me or get out!" Elizabeth snapped.
Ann squinted, trying to make out the faded writing in the darkness. Finally, she pulled the letters of marque and tossed them toward Elizabeth.
Both women froze at the echo of distant footsteps. Ann knew this office well, even with some new furniture; she knew her way around. Grabbing Elizabeth's arm, stumbling over one of the new leather chairs Beckett had put in, she shoved Elizabeth behind the leather chair in the corner as she herself frantically hid under the large mahogany desk, cursing at her choice. If she had chosen to stick with the traditional hoop skirts, there would be no chance she could fit under there. But as Ann was famously a spinster and was no longer on the market for a man, she could dress as she pleased.
The door creaked open. From under the desk, Ann watched Beckett's footsteps move towards her. She heard the quiet hiss of a lantern being lit above her, followed by an aggressive shut of the EITC wooden box.
"No doubt, you've discovered that loyalty is no longer the currency of the realm, as your father believes." Beckett's voice echoed. Ann watched Elizabeth approach Beckett. As she could only make out their feet, she gently bent further down to her surprise, Elizabeth was holding Beckett at gunpoint as they began their negotiation.
Ann listened to their exchange with close attention. After a few clipped sentences, Beckett's footsteps drifted closer to the desk, his calm voice echoing through the room as he coaxed Elizabeth toward compliance.
Ann despised his arrogance, yet against her better judgment, something in her stirred. With every calculated word that slipped from Beckett's lips, she found herself wanting to hear the next. She steadied her breathing, focusing on his words, hoping that the following sentence to fall from his lips wouldn't be the one she feared.
"-the only way I will sign those papers and the pardon-"
The scrape of Beckett's hand gliding across the desk as he reached for something seemed impossibly loud, drawing Ann's eyes to the sound. "-is if you sign this marriage contract, and agree to stand in front of a witness and proclaim yourself to me"
Ann shut her eyes in disappointment. She loved being right, but not this time. She saw Elizabeth shift her weight from one foot to the other, and she knew what she had to do.
Whilst Beckett was turned towards Elizabeth, Ann quietly climbed up from under the desk. Straightening her dress, she spoke coolly: "I have a better offer."
"Ah. Miss Ainsworth, so good of you to join us."
Beckett had spent the day chastising the employees who failed to provide him with a complete list of everyone of significance in Port Royal. He had since discovered that Miss Ainsworth was someone he should have been well aware of, as her father had been Lord Ainsworth, Senior Merchant-Administrator of the East India Trading Company before his passing.
"It has been a long time since we last saw each other. My word, look at how you've changed." Beckett's eyes drifted over Ann as she stood perfectly still. "I am curious – why did you step down from your post at the Company?"
"Sign the papers. Let Elizabeth go. I will sign the marriage contract instead."
The air in the room dropped cold. Beckett's eyes darkened, though Ann did not move an inch.
"How you love to ignore my questions," Beckett muttered, lips pursed in quiet disappointment.
It took only a brief moment for him to assess her offer. Marian was worldly, refined, politically convenient, and tied to impressive Company lineage. Though she was, admittedly, older than Elizabeth.
But as Beckett met her steady gaze and let his eyes trace the elegant lines of her figure, he couldn't deny it: she was every bit as beautiful as Elizabeth, perhaps even more so. The faint creases on her brow spoke of long, tireless days working for the Company; her eyes held a certain calm wisdom that stood in stark contrast to Elizabeth's impulsive fire. Her hair, barely a shade lighter than Elizabeth's, was pulled back into a tight twist at the back of her head, revealing the sharp edges of her cheekbones.
He was unable to resist.
"Done."
Like clockwork, Beckett snatched the papers from Elizabeth's hands just as Ann pulled the marriage contract across the desk toward her. She dipped his quill into an open ink pot and signed her name, flicking her wrist on the final letter of her family name.
Beckett watched her from the corner of his eye as he patiently warmed the wax over the lantern flame. The two of them stood in a strangely easy silence - Ann holding the quill, Beckett steadying the softening wax. The tension in the room was unbearable.
Ann glanced at the wax and gave Beckett the slightest nod. He passed it to her, exchanging it for the quill. He signed each document in turn - the letters of marque, the pardon, and finally the marital contract - while Ann followed behind him, letting the melted wax drip neatly near each signature.
Beckett pressed his signet ring into each small pool of red, sealing the documents with meticulous care and leaving behind the sharp imprint of a 'B'.
The entire exchange unfolded like a well-oiled machine, ending in merely a minute.
Elizabeth stood bewildered, unable to speak as she watched her cousin sign her life away in a matter of seconds. Still holding the wax in her hand, Ann rested her palm lightly on his desk as she watched Beckett press his ring into the final pool of red.
The moment he finished, Ann snatched the papers from beneath his hand, bound them swiftly in the burgundy leather folder, and prepared to toss them to Elizabeth when Beckett caught her wrist with sudden force.
"Not so fast," His eyes stayed locked on Ann's as his grip tightened. "-We must exchange words of present consent before a witness. Elizabeth-" He raised his voice, barely glancing back at her."-pay close attention," he commanded.
Still holding Ann's wrist, Beckett studied her closely as she tilted her head slightly, wearing a stern expression of disinterest.
"I, Lord Cutler Beckett, take you, Marian Ainsworth, to be my lawful wife, here and now." He did not look away from her, not even once.
"And I, Marian Ainsworth, take you, Cutler Beckett" - she enunciated the final letter of his name with forced clarity. The way his name rolled off her tongue pulled the corner of his mouth into a faint, sinister curve. "- as my lawful husband, here and now."
Beckett released her wrist with ease. Ann's eyes flicked away from him at once as she tossed the documents to Elizabeth. Go, she mouthed.
Elizabeth hesitated for a second before turning and running, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she wondered when she would see Ann again.
Beckett didn't bother to turn as Elizabeth left. He kept his gaze fixed on Ann, watching the way she leaned on his desk, still gripping the cooling wax. He leaned in slightly, studying her with quiet fascination, impressed by how swiftly she had turned this negotiation on its head, and by how cold her eyes had become as she tied those papers and tossed them to Elizabeth. He was impressed.
Gently, he placed his hand over hers, prying the wax from her grip while Elizabeth's footsteps faded down the corridor. Ann couldn't help but savour Beckett's touch, something she wasn't proud of.
Beckett pried the wax from her fingers. The small box that held the wax and quill sat near her hip, forcing Beckett to lean across to return it. He didn't look away from her as he reached past her. Ann found herself suddenly, dangerously close to his face.
He began to pull back - then stopped. His face hovered inches from hers as his gaze locked on hers. His hand drifted upwards as if on its own, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. Ann could hear the slow, uneven rhythm of his breathing as he leaned closer, his lips too close to her ear.
"Lady Beckett?" he whispered.
Feeling his warm breath against her neck, A sharp, unexpectedly exquisite shiver ran up her body as treacherous heat now pooled low in her stomach.
Ann detested the words that next came out of her mouth.
"At your service."